


Coming Home

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Always Female Stiles Stilinski, F/M, First Kiss, Light Angst, POV Stiles, Pining, Rule 63 Stiles, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-19 22:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: She knows it’s stupid, that she’s a moth being drawn to flame, that his smirks and sass and intelligence are the siren song enticing her to crash. But she still feels a pull in her gut every time she looks at him, a desire to get closer.





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Green](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/gifts).



> Thank you to TriscuitsandSoup for looking this over for me! 
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS, GREENIE! <3

 

 

Everything about Peter has always screamed “DANGER: DO NOT APPROACH” so loudly he might as well be wrapped in crime scene tape. Stiles knows this, has always known it. Even if she somehow forgot, she’s surrounded by reminders—from Peter’s blue wolf-eyes that say he’s killed, to Lydia’s sharp glares and biting sarcasm, to Derek’s casual violence and Scott’s lycanthropy. So she knows, she’s always known, and she doesn’t have the luxury of forgetting.

She wants him anyway.

She knows it’s stupid, that she’s a moth being drawn to flame, that his smirks and sass and intelligence are the siren song enticing her to crash. But she still feels a pull in her gut every time she looks at him, a desire to get closer. She wants to know what those big hands feel like spanning her waist, what his skin will feel like pressed against her own, what his lips and teeth and stubble will feel like on her throat.

There are other things she wants, too, but somehow those seem even more dangerous, more inappropriate, than wanting him to take her to bed. Most of the time, she doesn’t let herself think about them, but every once in a while, they creep up on her. Like now, when it’s just the two of them alone in the loft because they’re Team Research, and Peter’s just given her a look she can’t quite describe, but seems proud and approving and soft, somehow.

She wants.

But she reels it back in, looks away from Peter’s face and back at the research they’re pouring over. She leans to snag the notebook on the other side of the table, and pauses when she feels Peter’s hand settle low on her back. He doesn’t do anything, really—his hand is just there and heavy and warm, and his thumb brushes softly over the patch of skin where her shirt rode up. It doesn’t make sense for such a simple touch to make her need to be close to him so much stronger, for arousal to bloom hot and heavy and _fast_ in her pelvis.

She hopes he’ll ignore it, but of course he doesn’t. “Something bothering you, sweetheart?”

Other than her desperate urge to climb him like a tree? “Nope.”

He hums, the hand at her back shifting lower, to her hip, where he teases at the waistband of her jeans as he leans closer. “I think,” he murmurs, “that if you want something, you shouldn’t deny yourself.”

She drags in a shuddering breath, and shakes her head. It’s all she has the willpower for. He tuts. “Did you think I didn’t know? Stiles, darling, you’re many things, but subtle isn’t one of them.”

And just. Fine. If he doesn’t have the decency not to mention that he constantly ruins her panties, if he wants to tease her about something she’s never acted on and can’t control, then he can deal with the consequences.

She turns to face him, which he doesn’t seem to expect. She doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t stop to think, or she’ll talk herself out of it. She’s tired of wanting, so she lets herself have, grabbing the back of his neck and dragging him into a kiss.

She doesn’t expect him to kiss her back like she’s oxygen and he’s drowning. She doesn’t expect him to moan into her mouth, or for his arms to wrap around her and pull her closer. She doesn’t expect to feel a bone-deep sense of rightness and coming home.

Realization hits her a second before the bond does, and then she’s breaking the kiss to gasp against Peter’s shoulder and shake. His hunger and satisfaction and possessiveness collide with her own confusion and shame and fear. She’s spent so long fighting to stay away from him, only to find out he’s her soulmate. She feels awful that she put them both through that, but she’s afraid, too. Of what it means, that she’s mated to Peter, of how he might react, of how they go forward.

“Shh, sweetheart. You’re alright. I’ve got you.” And then one big hand is rubbing gently at the nape of her neck as the other wraps around her to press them close.

It feels safe and warm, and she just—“How are you so calm right now?”

He chuckles against her hair. “Compartmentalization is a handy skill. You should learn it.”

She doesn’t need the direct line to his emotions to know that’s a load of bullshit. The sense of playfulness and a desire to lighten the mood are just confirmation. “You’re an asshole,” she murmurs, even as she grips at the back of his shirt.

His stubble brushes against her temple as he dips his head to whisper in her ear. “I’ve suspected for a while, sweetheart. While I am exceedingly attractive, my usual admirers didn’t smell quite as . . . conflicted.”

And that, that’s a good word for it. She decides not to dwell, since he’ll be able to feel as well as smell it, now. “So, what now?”

He hums, and the hand at her waist skates down to cup an ass cheek. It makes her heart skip a beat, and then start hammering in anticipation. “Well, the responsible thing to do would be to go register, and request a few sessions with a bonding counsellor, and then figure out how to tell our nearest and dearest the happy news.”

She pulls a face. “Since when have either of us been the responsible one?”

Delight and a hunger so intense it’s a little overwhelming spill across the bond, and the hand on her butt squeezes, making her hips hitch forward. “Oh, I didn’t say we were. Just mentioning that it’s an option.”

“Stop being a tease. We can go do the responsible thing after you’ve cleaned up the mess you made.” _Of my panties_ goes unsaid, but judging by his anticipation and arousal, he hears it anyway.

“It would be my pleasure,” he rasps. And then he’s carrying her across the loft and up the stairs, a chorus of _yesyesyes_ reverberating down both sides of the bond.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblrrrrrrr](https://queerfictionwriter.tumblr.com/)


End file.
